"Well, Harding, you are to return to Last Chance, and give letters I will write to Landlord Larry, and I wish you to go to work in my service, and secret service it must be, for what you do must be underhand, no one knowing that you are doing else than carrying on your mining as before. I will give you a paper which will protect you, for Major Randall will endorse it officially, and you can use it in case of trouble, or necessity; not otherwise." "I thank you, friend Bill, and I'll be discreet, I promise you; but now there is another thing I wish to tell you, and to ask what you think of it." "Well, what is it, Harding?" "Do you believe that Sergeant Wallace Weston is dead?" was the query, in a low, earnest tone. Buffalo Bill started at the unexpected question asked him, and gazing intently at Harding, asked: "Why do you ask such a question, Harding?" "I will tell you when you answer my question, Mr. Cody." "Whether I believe Sergeant Wallace Weston dead?" "Yes, sir." "I do." "You have good reason for believing it, then?" "I have." "Please tell me what it is." "As you have some motive above curiosity in asking, I will do so, Harding," and Buffalo Bill told the whole story of Sergeant Weston's escape from execution, and the finding of a body in his uniform upon the desert, and burying it. But he added: "I confess, Harding, after a talk with Doctor Dick upon the subject, I was led to doubt to a certain degree the death of the sergeant, and even followed a trail which I supposed was his." "With what result, sir?" "That we found the trail led to a mine which had caved in and crushed the cabin home of those who dwelt there!" "When was this, sir?" "Only a short time ago." "Do you mind giving me the date?" Buffalo Bill took a note-book from his pocket and gave the exact date. "Now, Harding, you have some knowledge upon this subject; a secret to tell." "Yes, sir." "Out with it." "You will keep it in confidence, between us two?" "Certainly." "You know that the sergeant was my friend, that he had saved my life twice in battle, and I loved him as I did a brother?" "I remember." "No man knew him better than I did in the fort, for we were boon comrades for over a year, and I knew his features perfectly, as well as other marks of identification." "Yes." "The sergeant had one mark that he was sensitive about, and kept hidden from all, though I saw it several times." "What was it?" "He had a peculiar way of dressing his hair, with a curl hanging over his forehead." "I remember it." "Beneath that curl, sir, was a birthmark." "Ah!" "It was a red cross an inch in length, and perfect in shape." "Indeed?" "Yes, and I saw that same mark on a man's forehead a few days before the date you say that Sergeant Weston, if it was he, was buried in the caved-in mine." "Ah! and where did you see it?"